The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1887-02-18
THE LITTLE DILLS.
Marcia's Brave Journey with Them
to "Kancas."

The Oils were very poor. They had
always been poor. They lived on a
poor, marshy little farm out in Iowa.
The farm produced splendid weeds, but
nothing else. This was partly because
Mr.. Dill was what the neighbors called
shiftless, and partly because Mr.. Dill
told the truth when he said, in dis
couraged kind of tone, that it was
"most an awful poor piece of land. "
The house in which the Dills lived was
very old and shabby, implanted frame
building of but two rooms.
But white curtains hung before the
two small windows on either side of
the door. The small, square panes of
glass in these windows were always
very clean, and one could see back of
them rows of plants in neatly-papered
tin cans. A cypress vine was trained
over the low door. The yard and the
doorstep were always swept very clean,
and there were little beds of ragged
robins, touch-me-nots and marigolds
fenced around with sticks and barrel
slaves to keep the chickens away, for
there was hardly whole panel of fence
on the Dill farm.
Marcia Dill had put up the white
curtains, swept the yard and planted
the flowers. None of the other Dills
would have thought of doing such
things. Mrs. Dill sat in corner and
smoked for neurology" and said
Marcia ''wasted an awful sight of
time" Mr.. Dill lay on his back under
the trees and said the same thing.
Marcia was the eldest of the children.
She was twelve. Then came Zebby, a
sickly boy of ten. Katie, a pretty
little girl of seven, came next, and the
baby's name was Sammy. He was a
splendid little fellow, two years old.
Marcia said she loved him better than
her life, and l really think she did
Poor Mr.. Dill was killed while cross
ing railroad track one rainy day.
The neighbors said he was too lazy to
get out of the way of the approaching
train. But neighbors are very unchar-
liable sometimes. Soon after this Mrs.
Dill fell ill of fever, and lived but
ten days; and there was Marcia left
alone with her little sister and broth
ers. The only relative she knew was
brother of her fathers, who lived far
out in Western Kansas. Marcia thought
it her duty to write and tell this uncle
of the death of her parents. She wrote
a very simple, touching little letter,
and this was part of it:
eve are left very poor. Father
was never able to get the farm all paid
for, and it is poor piece of ground.
Doyou think we could do any thing
out in Kansas? OF course l am
the only one able to work hard.
Brother Zebby is sickly, but
he is real willing to do what he can.
He can drop corn for most two hours
at time. Katie can do more than
most little girls of her age, and she's
always real willing to pitch in. The
baby is u good, healthy child, and
want him to be Il farmer. May be we
will have fifty dollars left when the
place is sold and every thing Paid up.
Father was in debt a good deal, and
the funeral bills are big. l want to
Keep our COW and calf and horse and
wagon, whether we stay here or not
If you think there would be any show
for us out there, we could come in the
wagon. l wouldn't be afraid to, and
we wouldn't have enough money to
come on the cars. I've heard about
the Government or somebody giving
away real good land out there to any
body who would improve it. Do YOU
think l could get some land that way?
They say you don't have to be grown
up or of age to get it, and l thought
maybe I'd stand some chance on ac-
count of having the children to bring
up
One June day a short, stout, gray
headed old man, with round red face.
took this letter from a tiny little village
post-oflice. A plainly-dressed little old
woman sat in a big red-and-green farm
wagon before the post-of1ice door. The
little old lady had such a kindly face,
and / think she looked better in her
neatlY-made dark calico dress, her plain
white Northumberland, her long,
black silk apron and her plain straw
bonnet, than in any thing she could
have worn, The little old man read
the letter to the old lady as they drove
Slowly homeward over a dusty country
road.
A corner of the old ladys black silk
apron went to her eyes many times
while the letter was being read; and
the old man, not having on any black
silk apron, and having forgotten his
handkerchief, used his yellow linen
coat instead. Once he drew the back
of his rough brown hand across his
eyes, and when he dropped it by his
side there was long wet streak on it.
The first thing he said was: 81 don't
see how brother William could be so
shiftless with a child like that in the
house"
"She's regular growed-up little
woman, said the old lady, solemnly.
"Think of her writin' bout havin' the
children to bring up, and her not thir-
teen YET" Z